


Proposal of Interest

by mother_finch



Series: Proposal of Interest [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:05:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3753844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: POI Proposal style? Consider it prompt requested!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here Comes the Bribe

Shaw sits with a hot head and boiling blood, scorching flames for eyes as her gaze burns a hole into the tan seat in front of her. Her muscles are wound tight with anger, and she can't help the miffed emotions that keep tugging her top lip into a sneer. Other than that, she is stone. Not a single part of her moves; she is a statue carved from frustration and contempt.

_What short straw did I pick to put me in this position?_  Her thoughts roar, and her stare intensifies against the headrest before her. Part of her expects it to go up in spontaneous combustion, yet the rest of her is too consumed with brooding thoughts to imagine anything else. She lets her mind travel back to the scene bitterly, only two hours ago but still fresh in her mind's eye.

_'Why am I here so early?' Shaw'd asked, feathers ruffled already with the disrupt to her sleep. She'd barely made it three feet into the subway station before she realized Harold wasn't alone. From just in front of the subway car, Root sat on a large suitcase, legs crossed as she examined her fingernails. Looking up from them, she gave Shaw a smirk that screamed she knew something Shaw didn't. Scanning the station, Shaw finally spotted Harold, coming from the bench over to her._

_'Sorry for the last minute wake up call,' Harold's apology was short, his mind focused on something else entirely. 'Something has come up, and I need you and Miss. Groves to take care of it.'_

_'And this couldn't have waited until morning because...' Shaw didn't look over, but she could feel Root's smug smirk deepening. Harold checked his wristwatch before looking back to her._

_'The plane leaves in ninety minutes.'_

* * *

 

_'Speaking of which,' Root cut in finally, coming to a stand. Shaw looked over at her, trying to keep her eyes hostile, but with some difficulty. She took in Root's business-like attire- the gray skirt paired with a matching jacket and white blouse; strappy high heels; her hair down but styled to stay out of her face. Not to mention her piercing eyes that seemed to settle deep past Shaw's stone cold exterior. 'You better get packing. We have places to be, business deals to make.'_

_'What are we, business associates?' Shaw asked, looking back to Harold. His eyes flickered away, and he licked his lips, trying to stall._

_'Try to-be-married CEO and secretary. It's really quite the scandal.' Shaw turned herself around to face Root instantly, eyes swimming in their shock. Shaw shook her head in disbelief, an incredulous smile coming to her face._

_'No way in_ Hell, _' she turned to Harold, face now serious. 'Not happening, Harold.'_

_'I'm afraid it is all set,' Harold told her almost sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. 'It shouldn't be a long journey-'_

_'Just the weekend,' Root finished, eyes filled with pleasure at seeing Shaw's flustered form. Shaw's eyes shot daggers at her, but Root seemed unfazed by them. If anything, they made her face brighter. After a few minutes of angry boiling, Shaw let out a disgruntled sigh, flinging her arms hard to her sides and stalking away._

_'Wait.' Shaw stopped at Root's voice, took a deep breath, then turned to face her, steam brewing from her ears. Root walked forward, eyes set on Shaw, and she stopped just inches before her. 'You're going to need this,' she said, holding out a plane ticket. Shaw looked down at it, debating upon slapping it aside, but ripped it from her grasp in the end. She went to turn away, but Root grabbed her forearm gently, just enough to keep Shaw there. Shaw rolled her tongue across her teeth, annoyed. 'No one's ever going to believe we're engaged if you keep up that attitude,' Root chastised, giving Shaw a small pout of the lip. Shaw felt her heart give a jump, and sneered to herself involuntarily._

_'They don't_ need  _to believe it.'_

_'Except for the fact that they do,' Root countered coyly, and Harold watched the women with widened eyes, unsure of his place in the matter. 'And I think it's time you just accept that from now on, your wagon is hitched to mine.'_

_This set off an avalanche of things within Shaw. For starters, there was an anger at the statement. There was frustration with the dazzling brunette before her. But more than that, there was an unexpected flight in her stomach. It was like someone switched off the gravity, and all of her was floating- it was an alien feeling, and she despised how vulnerable it made her feel. Shaw saw a delighted shimmer in Root's eyes, and hoped none of her thoughts were showing._

_'So, what do you say, Sameen: marry me?'_

_Over my dead body,_  Shaw thinks to herself, pulling her mind away from the recollection. She can't get the sugary sweet look on Root's face from her mind.  _Enough to give me a cavity,_ Shaw grumbles, feeling the heat rising from her body as all her rage seeps through her skin, giving her a poisonous outer coating. From her right shoulder, she feels a shift, and that same, mixed feeling comes back to her. Anger and excitement. Silently, she scolds herself for the latter, and her eyes drift down.

_I didn't sleep, Sameen_ , Shaw hears Root's words echoing through her mind.  _I've been up making sure our identities are solid_. That still doesn't assure Shaw any, and she looks with a frown of dismay at the wavy brown hair taking over her shoulder. Somewhere within its tangles, she knows Root's sleeping face hides, but she doesn't stop to check on her. Instead, she casts her face to the window, watching the endless stripes of oranges, reds, and purples as the sun rises, every cloud painted from below, their tops still shaded as the sun climbs into the sky. Shaw feels her head slowly droop down, and pulls it up with a jerk.  _No way am I falling asleep,_  she tells herself sternly, eyes watching the sky but not truly seeing it anymore. Her thoughts are focused on the sleeping form at her side.  _Not giving her that satisfaction._

__________\ If Your Number's Up /___________

"Welcome to Inscopix!" A sprightly young woman with sun kissed skin and long blonde hair greets them with a pearly white smile. "Name please!"

Shaw looks around the small hotel lobby, seeing the tan walls and dark green carpet. The furniture is older, its leather worn smooth, and uncoordinated paintings hang along the walls. Some are of the city, while others are random families or birds or forests. The lobby is cool, a comforting difference from the sticky, hot California air just outside of the doors.

"Melissa Groves, Secretary to A Gép Technologies, and Sameen Reynolds, CEO." Shaw looks over at Root, trying not to show her enjoyment of the title. The woman behind the desk clicks a few buttons, then grabs a key from the back board.

"Right this way," she tells them, smile ever plastered to rosy cheeks. The woman smooths down her short skirt before walking down the left hallway. Root and Shaw follow close behind, each rolling a suitcase with them.

"I'm your boss, huh?" Shaw says between the two of them, letting an arrogant string wrap around her words.

"With the way  _you_  take orders?" Root remarks in an even tone, looking straight ahead. "You'd be the  _worst_  secretary I know." Shaw stops, cross glare burning into the back of Root's head as she continues to walk. Shaking her head, Shaw starts forward once more.  _Is the weekend over yet?_

The woman stops at a wooden door facing a window, and bright sunlight filters through green blinds, creating the feel of a jungle canopy. "Here you are!" She says, chipper as ever with glassy eyes. "Enjoy your stay in Palo Alto!" With that, she hands Root the key and hustles off, heels shuffling along the carpet without ever lifting off the ground.

"Well doesn't  _she_  put the 'I' in 'quirky'," Shaw mutters as Root unlocks the door. Pushing it in, an icy breeze hits them, and the hum of an air conditioner plays at the back of the room. Everything is dark, and Root fumbles at the nearest wall for a light switch.

Clicking it, the quaint room is bathed in yellow light, revealing red carpet and walls that match the lobby. Black and white stills of happy tourists are framed and hung on the walls, their smiling faces far too grand for Shaw to find real. Walking forward, two doors meet them on either side of the small hallway. The first is a good-sized bathroom, and the other a coat closet. Walking further in, the layout expands, and a small row of windows looks out on an inner square of the building. Shaw can see other residents sitting about in the grass and tanning, while children play soccer at the far corner. To the right, she sees a wrap around counter equipped with a microwave and mini fridge. Right after it is a couch pointing towards the wall equal to them, and a television sits on a small table in front of it. Shaw's eyes continue to pan across the room, then stop, filling with horror.  _Crap_.

It sits there, massive and heavy like a beast, wooden posts like teeth ready to snag her skin, and large head rest like prison bars. It's cleanly made with soft white blankets, but that does not fool Shaw, who sees it for what it really is: a bed.  _A single bed._

"Are you sure this is the right room?" Shaw asks, stepping far from it and towards the couch area. Root pulls out her phone and checks the reservation.

"Yup, this is the one She told me to get."  _Great,_  Shaw fumes, teeth grinding against each other. Root looks up, sees the anger steaming in Shaw's eyes, and tilts her head condescendingly. "We're  _adults_ ," she says flatly, knowing exactly what Shaw's thinking. "It'll be fine. Besides," she adds with a more provocative tone. "I'm good at sharing." Shaw gives her a sarcastic, tight smile, eyes narrowing.

"Well I'm not. I'll take the couch." Dropping the face, she turns to it, plopping her suit case by its side. She leans over, unfastening a carry on, and lugs it onto the old piece of furniture, while Root stows her own bag away under the bed.

"Why am I not surprised," Root says, coming to Shaw with an affectionate smile. Shaw gives her an almost prideful one in return as she pulls the bag open, revealing a miniature arsenal. Shaw digs in, pulling out two, easily concealable hand guns, and passes them over to Root. She rolls them around in her hands, sizing them up, before hiding them in her waste band. Shaw takes one for herself, then zips the bag back up, eyes searching for a safe. Spotting one beside the microwave, she quickly stows it away.

"So why here?" Shaw asks at last, the curiosity eating at her. She had no knowledge of what they were getting into, let alone why it was in a small city all the way across the country.  _Probably not Samaritan_ , she thinks, knowing it likes to stay in its home state more than not.

"Haven't you heard?" Root asks as if it is obvious, plopping down on the couch. Shaw watches her every movement, partially not to miss a detail, but also just taking her in. "Palo Alto is an AI's dream. Thirty-one mile dark fiber ring encircling the city, making everything accessible through computers. And its wi-fi? To  _die_  for." Root gives Shaw a teasing smile, and Shaw rolls her eyes, stowing her gun into the waistband of her own dress suit.

"And... what? The Machine have a new interest in a sister city?" Shaw feels her stomach rumble, but ignores it, wanting to know the information.

"Not exactly sure yet," Root replies, a glow in her eye. "I just know- for now- She's back." Root taps her ear, a smirk coming to her face with excitement. "She told me to get ready last night, then to tell Harold and have him get you. And now, we're here."

"Just like the old days," Shaw replies with a slight, comprehensive sigh. Just as she comes over to sit, Root stands up, something in her eyes making Shaw pause. It's as if she's reading something just in front of her, yet invisible to everyone else.

"You got it," she says as a toothy grin reaches ear to ear, and she straightens her jacket. Turning to Shaw, she says, "It's time to meet the neighbors."

"I forgot how annoying that could be," Shaw grumbles, following Root out of the room.

_________\ We'll Find You /_________

"Ah, welcome to California, my friends!" Shaw smiles at the rather plump man before them, sporting a Hawaiian, floral shirt and khaki shorts. From the looks of him, he is in his late fifties. At either side he has two associates, three men and a women all dressed in laid back clothing. "Please, please, take a seat."

Root smiles at him charmingly, pulling out a chair and sitting at the large, wooden table. All around them, people talk and silverware clinks on glass plates. After scanning each of their faces in turn, Shaw pulls up a chair stiffly.

" _Please_  tell me you brought something more casual to stay in," he says, white smile contrasting heavily against his tanned skin. He looks almost Hawaiian himself, Shaw thinks, looking him over. "California is too beautiful a place for you to be in _suits_  every day!"

"Well, we  _did_  come here to  _work_ ," Shaw says in a mono-toned voice, and Root shoots a warning glare her way. The man seems to pay no mind, however, and gives a ground rumbling laugh.

"Oh my  _my_! They have you all trained in the Big Apple. Here, I will teach you to relax. Enjoy yourselves, you are newly weds, no?"

"Only engaged," Root replies politely, and the man's smile widens. How is that possible? Shaw wonders, seeing more teeth than face on this man.

"Well we- CEO and members of Merril Corporation- congratulate you." He puts his hands out at either side of him, gesturing to his associates who nod with encouraging faces. Shaw looks over at Root with eyes ready to kill, and Root returns them with a soft smile that asks her to be patient. Turning back to face the man, Root begins to talk business.

"So, Eric," she starts, trying to hide a smirk. The name whispered into her ear less than a second before rolls off of her tongue easily, as if she'd spoken it a thousand times. "Tell me a little about your company."

"A  _little_?" He asks with a good-hearted surprise. "There is no  _little_  when it comes to Merril! We do everything from legal and financial transactions to marketing and communications. The real question is, what do  _you_  have to offer  _us_?" His smile is just as wide, but Shaw can feel a shift in his mood from casual to work.

" _We_ ," Root says, glancing over at Shaw before looking back to him, leaning into the table, "have a software that will make your computers twice that of every competitor in the state." Eric nods his head, impressed.

"And this software does..?"

Shaw watches Root, not wanting to admit it- and surely not showing- the awe she feels at watching Root at work. She can almost see the gears turning under wavy brown hair, and her eyes are alight with adventure and suspense. She finds the rest of the café's noises fading out as she listens to Root speak.

"It will run in the background, so it won't interrupt a single thing you do. It will just sort all of your files into denominations automatically, make things in the system easier to find, and because of this, it will make your systems more efficient as a whole."

Again, Eric nods, bald head reflecting the overhead lights with each move he makes. He brings a finger to his chin, tapping it in thought. "So, what's in it for me?" He asks, the question smooth and kind, as to slide it into the conversation flawlessly.

"You pay us the right price, and the software is yours," Root says simply, smile widening as she leans back in her seat. "That means you can sell it, distribute it- all rights are yours. The possibilities are endless." Shaw watches her face as she talks, each word seemingly backed with all the evidence in the world, making everything she says so easy to believe.

"And what do you think of it?" Shaw hears the words, but they seem distant, like they are from another table, or even another world.  _What's wrong with me?_ Shaw finds herself thinking, part of her sensible enough to know she's staring-  _gawking more like it_ \- but the rest of her too mesmerized and brain dead to stop.  _You didn't even want to be on this stupid assignment anyway,_ Shaw reminds herself harshly, but it still doesn't seem to bring her to. Root's eyes slide over to look at her, their outer layer easily passing for calm, but Shaw can see past that to an insistent demand underneath. There is still a smile on her face, but it is as if someone pressed pause on it, not allowing it to match her eyes. Finally, she clears her throat.

"Sweetie, you okay?" Root asks quietly, barely making it to Shaw's ears. Instantly, all of the ropes holding Shaw's mind it place cut, and she finds herself free to act once more. She sits up straighter, eyes hardening and jaw setting back to stone.

"Yes, why," she snaps, a little too defensively.

"Eric asked you a question..." She trails off, eyes flickering to the man in the Hawaiian shirt and back. He did? Shaw thinks, looking back to Eric. Her face is calm and collected while she searches through her mind for any recollection of it.  _And what do you think of it?_

"Oh, uh, yes- it's good stuff." From her side, Shaw can hear a sigh escape Root's lips met by an eye roll. Eric looks between the two of them, eyes igniting in pleasured amusement.

"With a woman like that, I cannot blame you for not paying attention," he assures Shaw good naturedly, and she forces out a pleasant smile. Eric's phone pings, and he looks down at it, eyes scanning over the message quickly. He types back, then locks it, looking back up to them with an apologetic smile. "I must be going," he tells them, pushing back in his chair. At once, his four followers come to a standing position, still as trained soldiers. "Duty calls. But first.." he stops, half way out of his chair, then sits back down, an idea brewing behind beady black eyes. For some reason, Shaw finds and unsettling feeling lurking within her stomach. "Can I get a kiss from the happy couple?"

Shaw can feel her head tilt down, eyes widen with the slight unhinging of her jaw.  _I knew this wasn't going to be good_. Shaw lets her eyes drift over to Root, who has a similar expression.

"Um, we aren't really that  _outgoing_ with those kind of things..." Root replies slowly, still trying to wrap her head around the words. Shaw hears a dull ringing in her ears.  _This is worse than getting shot._

"Ah, c'mon," he says with a hearty laugh. "I want to be able to tell my wife all about you two. Show her a picture! You remind me of us; deep in love."

"Well, we're deep in  _something_ , that's for sure," Shaw mutters under her breath, and Root elbows her forcefully in her side, causing Shaw to hunch over, teeth clenched in anger.

"One kiss cannot be  _so_  bad," he tells them earnestly.

"Wasn't this a  _business_ meeting?" Shaw asks blatantly, righting herself with venomous eyes directed at Root.

"What did I tell you," he says, a fake scolding tone in his voice and a gargantuan grin. "You left work behind in New York. This is Palo Alto- this is vacation." He looks between them, and neither of them move, Shaw going so far as to cross her arms. His smile drops slightly, eyes becoming cool. "I won't think about your offer," he says, the black mail making Root's stern face drop. "I've gotten many offers before, and I am sure another one will come around eventually."

_Nice try, pal_ , Shaw thinks, wanting more than anything to give a cruel laugh at his idea of a threat, but falls short at seeing Root's worried face. Root meets Shaw's eyes, widening her own as if to say  _'Just do it.'_

Shaw opens her mouth, brows knitting incredulously. " _No_ , I'm not  _going_  to-" Root drops her shoulders, raising her eyebrows all the while, eyes pleading her case.  _'This is important'_  they tell her constantly, saying it all like a chant until it runs through Shaw's mind like a colossal train wreck.  _This is important, just do it._ Shaw closes her eyes, scrunching them angrily; she can feel her tongue pressed against her teeth in the utmost annoyance. She finds herself cursing in her mind. Cursing the Machine for putting her in this position, cursing Harold for agreeing to it, cursing Root for those eyes of hers- cursing herself for being such a spineless jellyfish.  _Where's your back bone_ , she demands of herself, eyes opening again. She feels an uproar of butterflies in her stomach- _is this nervousness?_

_'Fine'_ she mouths to Root, but her eyes flare with a far different answer.

Shaw can see the unease in Root's eyes as well, watching them shift back and forth, not staying in place more than a second, as she draws hesitantly closer.  _What?_  Shaw thinks snidely, frustration dictating her every thought. _All your overt flirting not prepare you for this?_  Root comes closer still, and Shaw can practically feel the trepidation radiating off of her.  _Didn't think these stupid identities through, did you?_  She feels like shying away, feeling for the first time the need of flight rather than fight. She scrunches her eyes closed tight, fearing the absolute worst. And the absolute worst she expected was nothing compared to what she got.

As soon as it happens, her muscles uncoil and her face is no longer contorted with reluctance. She has words for it, but she can't get a single one through her short circuiting mind. At the same time there is emptiness everywhere, everything is compact, to the brim of crushing her with the tightness of every single thought and sense all crowded into one small space. She hears the artificial camera shutter of Eric's phone, and almost instantaneously pulls back, whipping her face in the other direction to avoid Root. _To avoid everything_. She feels her ears heating up, and knows that they have to be a crimson red.

"Well, I will see the two of you tomorrow," Eric tells them cheerily, and Shaw can hear the smile on his laid back face. She wants to punch it right off, or even shoot it off. Instead, she sits with her head cast away, waiting for him to leave the café. All the while, only one thing seems able to pull its way through the dysfunctional mess of her mind.

_Oh no._

__________\ Proposal of Interest /__________

"Is making everyone's computer more organized  _really_  worth  _that_?" Shaw fumes, slamming the hotel door behind her. Root hadn't said a word the entire car ride home, making the tension only mount.

"It's not actually what I _told_ him it was, Shaw," Root tells her in a deathly serious voice, eyes somber as she turns to look at Shaw.

"Do I at least get to know _what_  it is?" Shaw spits out, furious more with herself than with anything else.

"It's a program that is going to be a net," Root says, voice rising slightly. "A net that is going to let everything filter through except for one string of code it knows to reject."

"And that  _one_  code makes it so special?" Shaw can feel her teeth grinding, angered waves radiating from her being.

"Considering that  _one_  string is Samaritan's access key? Yeah, it is." Shaw is silent at that, a sneer forming on her lips as she looks past Root into the hotel's square. "The speed boost and organization formats are just a cover for what it really is. If he gives or sells that program to anyone who wants it, it'll halt Samaritan- at least long enough to let us bide our time."

Shaw can't stand the leveled tone Root holds, how different it is from her usual, upper-handed self. She seems caught, caught in a way Shaw has yet to see her, as if something is troubling her far worse than anything this far. Shaw yearns for her to crack a joke, make some ridiculous come-on, just to prove that everything is normal. But normal doesn't seem to exist anymore. Shaw can't look at her, doesn't want to face that something changed back there, but maybe changed isn't the right word.  _Progressed?_  She thinks, but discredits the idea the second it reaches her.  _There was nothing for anything to have progressed from... right?_  She feels her stomach give a painful growl, and she realizes she still has yet to eat anything that day. Sighing, she turns back to the door.

She hesitates a moment, waiting to see if Root will say anything. When she doesn't, Shaw pulls it open and escapes, needing the fresh air and something to eat.

The second she steps outside, she is hit with an almost suffocating burst of heat, reminding her once more she's not home- no where near home.  _There is no escaping this one._ Sighing, she meanders down Embarcadero Road, stopping across the street to grab a sandwich from a food truck before continuing. _All I need is to sort some things out,_  she tells herself, taking a bite, but not really tasting it. _I just need to figure some things out._

Looking left to right, she wonders which way to start off. After a moment, she heads towards the roads instead of away from them, finding a certain tranquility in the white noise of the highway. It almost reminds her of the city she left behind. Almost.

_What happened back there wasn't anything_ , she tells herself, coming to a cross in the roads. She stands under the shade of a tree, waiting for cars to stop racing by.  _We're just being awkward because- well why wouldn't we be? We didn't sign up for that kind of thing._  She takes another bite of the sandwich, then jogs across the wide road, coming to the other side just in time.  _Everything will be fine by tomorrow_. But something in her doesn't quite believe it.  _Root will be back to her happy annoying self by morning._  But what about Shaw? What would she be like in the morning? As much as she thinks about it, she can't quite find an answer.  _I just want this mission to be over with_ , she concludes, walking past an aviation training and rental. Looking at the plane parked out there, sun reflecting off of its metallic surface blindingly, she can't help but remember one of their earlier assignments. High jacking a jet. A small smile comes to her face subconsciously as she remembers it, how simple all that seemed. This task didn't seem like that one. This one felt so much more complex. The weight of all Shaw's thoughts presses down heavily on her shoulders, and she finds herself exhausted. Polishing off the sandwich, she wanders back behind the aviation school a few blocks, coming to a small bar.

She'd debated going back to the hotel room- getting a cold shower and calling it quits- but her mind wasn't finished yet. She needed to let it figure some more things out first.  _What was I thinking?_  She asks herself, walking into the cool, low lighted place. Her heels click heavily across the wooden floor, and she sits at the corner of the nearly empty bar.  _What was Root thinking?_

_Probably how important the program was_ , Shaw thinks, small smile coming to her face all the while a pang hits her in the side.  _How that was just one small sacrifice for the bigger picture. And that's all this was, wasn't it? A small, fabricated lie to make the world a better place?_ She wasn't sure anymore, and her head was starting to pound.

"Hey, I saw you from the hotel," a man walks up to Shaw, warm smile on his face. She looks him over, and sees he is much more normal than most of the people she has come across in this alien city. "I work there as a cleaner," he tells her. "Mind if I?" He gestures to the stool before her, and Shaw nods her head for him to sit. "Saw you come in with a tall woman. She a friend of yours?"

"You could say that," Shaw replies with little interest, leaning her head on her left hand, trying to keep the headache from surfacing.

"We get a lot of people like you coming through here," he tells her, and she lets out a small chuckle.

"I'd be surprised if they were like me." He looks at her quizzically, but disregards the question that was starting to form on his lips. Shaking his head, he comes up with a different one instead.

"Can I offer you a drink?" He asks, no ill will or secret plan in his honest eyes. Shaw looks out the nearest, slightly grimy window. She looks at the sky, pitch black with hundreds of stars dotting it. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten, and checking her phone, she sees it is nearly ten.

"Maybe another time," she tells him, pushing off of the bar. She walks to the man sitting behind the counter top, and he stands at attention. "You serve food here?"

"Uh, we have a good, uh, shish-kabob?" He offers, thick Spanish accent rolling off of his tongue.

"I'll take two."

_____________\ Here Comes the Bribe /____________

Shaw creeps with silent steps back into the hotel room, easing the door shut with an almost inaudible click of the latch. Every light is off, and Shaw can hear Root's steady breathing from inside.  _She's asleep._  The thought brings a smile to Shaw's face as she slinks back into the room, trying to keep the paper bag in her hand from crinkling. She looks down at the two shish-kabobs, now wondering where to store them. She'd gotten them for her, knowing if she hadn't eaten that day there was no way Root had managed, but now feels silly for coming back with them so late.

After a moment's deliberation, she settles for leaving them on the wrap-around counter, then kicks off her shoes. Like a mouse now, she makes no sound at all, and stops at the counter's edge. Part of her wants to walk over there- to hold her breath and not make a sound and just see if she's alright. However, the more sane part of her rules against it, and she comes to the couch, finding a blanket and pillow placed at its edge. Her eyes lighten as she goes to lay down, silently getting herself situated. Then, she lays there, staring up at the ceiling, her exhaustion leaving nothing but restlessness in its wake.

"Eric's assistants came by earlier," Shaw's breath catches, hearing Root's voice. It's silent, but carries across the small space. "The company wanted the program. Payed and everything. We're done here." Shaw nods in the pitch black, not sure what to say. There is silence again, but just when Shaw thinks Root has actually fallen asleep, she is proven wrong. Once more, Shaw doesn't respond, just listens as Root's words fade away after they come out, and she's left to wonder where sound goes, where it gets lost.  _Maybe it stays in your head_ , she thinks, knowing that after Root's words, the only place she can hear them again is within herself. And so, she replays it.

"Goodnight, Sam."

* * *

 

##  [To be Continued...](http://mother-finch.tumblr.com/post/116445847296/yeah-could-you-write-a-prompt-about-one-of-the)


	2. Here Comes the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, could you write a prompt about one of the two proposing to the other? (Shaw & root). I think it would be really cute to read ^-^ thank you and love your blog xx

_Running. They were running and shooting and running. Behind them guns fired, and their bullets were sonic booms as they passed Root’s ears, all coming by too close for comfort. We need cover, she thinks. We’re exposed out here. She wasn’t sure where they were, just that it was hot, and the air was dry, and the grass was too green for such stifling heat. And the sun. The sun is a hot iron searing her skin at the slightest touch. Still, they run, perhaps four feet between them._  Why are we running?  _Root asks herself, the heat making her muscles tired and her lungs useless._  We need to stop running.

The golf course, that’s where, _Root realizes, finally seeing the small holes in the ground, flags sticking up from the ground in various places, and small hills and divots roll smoothly across the land. Everything starts to come back to her._ We’re at the golf course in Palo Alto.  _Another bullet whizzes by and it leaves a ringing in her right ear. She turns her torso, shooting once more behind her, not seeing who but knowing that they are somewhere- somewhere close. She sees a small crop of trees, and just behind it is a steep hill that drops off to nothing. She heads towards it, hoping she knows to follow._

* * *

 

Sameen.  _Root turns her head to the right, a flow of relief coming to her and she can breathe, seeing Shaw’s cold outer physique as she shoots back over her shoulder. Her eyes are steel with thinly pressed lips, and as much as Root wants to, she knows now is not the time to admire._

_She runs back behind the hill, and her feet sink deep into a pit of sand. Root fumbles, fingers digging into the sand as she stumbles back behind the hill, knees bending into a crouch with her gun at the ready. She feels Shaw’s shoulder against hers as they both kneel, backs against the grassy dune. Their breathing is labored and sick with heat. Root looks over to her again, trying to catch her breath, hearing the firearms still echoing across the open land. She gives Shaw an exhilarated smile, seeing Shaw’s eyes already on her. Shaw looks her over with curiosity, vision trailing off on Root’s face. Root watches as she leaves her gun in her right hand, eyes coming down to look at her left move just above the ground. Root feels a surge of electricity shoot from her fingers, shocking every nerve and muscle up her arm, volts high enough to stop her heart. She brings her eyes down and sees Shaw’s fingers looped within hers; she feels her heart pounding wildly against her chest like a wild bird trying to escape its cage. She looks back up, opening her mouth to speak, but her voice doesn’t come. Shaw smirks at Root’s bewildered expression._

_“Root, come on! We need to keep moving!” Root whips her head around to see an insistent John Reese, large rifle and scope in his hands as he looks at them, sunlight bathing his suit and face._ What is he doing here? _Root wonders, suddenly confused. There is a string of bullets shot into the air, and in a heartbeat, John is down with a mist of red trailing him to the ground. Root’s eyes widen in horror to see the blood pouring down the side of his face from a bullet wound at the temple, seeing it follow down the edge of his nose before dripping off at his upper lip. From below, the green grass is met with river rapids of crimson as it escapes, quickly spreading across the small patch just before the sand. Thirsty from the boiling sun, Root can see it sink down into the earth, enriching the soil with the metallic scent of blood._

 _She scrambles over to him, crawling with the sand ripping at her palms, exposing herself out the side of the dune. She wants to call for him- shake him- but she can do none of these things. Knowing they would never do a thing._ John.  _Her hands come to her mouth as she looks into his eyes. They are icy, but distant, just out of focus. They are dead eyes._

 _Root looks over, feeling a lump in her throat, and she coughs, emotions welling deep within her. But she sees another horror awaiting her from behind. The people, the ones she couldn’t see but knew were there- she can see them now. They are faceless, strings of code scanning in hollow eye sockets and absurd, electronic noises escape their mouths in communication. Three surround Shaw, one on either side, hands pressed down on her shoulders, while the third holds a gun to her head._ No, please no.

 _Root goes to raise her gun, but she feels a weighted force shove her down, and she smacks her head painfully on the ground. A burst of color comes into her vision, and she is yanked to her knees. There is the cool feeling of metal on her forehead, and she forces her eyes open. A gun. She focuses them out, and her eyes widen with rage, seeing the person behind it. Martine, blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, tight dress impeccable and spotless, black as death. She seems to be the only one with real eyes, but they are a different kind of hollow. The human kind, the apathetic, uncaring kind- the kind that only lights with the burning of the world. Root sneers wickedly, lashing out, but a hand on either shoulder hold her firmly in place._ Where’s Harold?  _She wonders, fearing what may have become of her friend._ Why aren’t you helping? Do you want us all dead?  _Her questions are pleading, thoughts asking the Machine. There is nothing but radio silence._

“Root.”  _She slides her eyes over to Shaw’s, who looks back at her with only dark eyes._  “Root.”

_There is the click of the safety coming off, and that alone carries the volume of a crashed freight train. Eyes back on Martine, she sees the slightest half smile pull up her lip._

Root feels something hit her in the head point blank, and she sucks in a large gulp of air, eyes widening as she shoots straight up. A pillow falls to her lap, and she gives a slight jump, startled. _A pillow?_ She brings her hand gingerly to her forehead, but feels nothing save for smooth skin.

“Root, how many times do I have to try and wake you up?” Shaw’s voice comes to her impatiently from just past the foot rest, but the rude tone is heaven to Root’s weary ears. She sighs, dropping her hand and leaning back into the mattress on her elbows, trying to wrap her head around it all.  _It wasn’t real._  But to her, it felt lifelike. She can still remember the taste of the heat on her tongue, and the intoxicating fragrance of blood. She looks down at the comforter, disoriented and messy, and tries to calm her hellish breathing. She hears footsteps, and a moment later the mattress creaks. She can feel her body tugged to the right with the added weight to the bed’s edge. “What’s wrong?”

Shaw’s voice has lost its acidity, replaced by one that barely cares. But that small sliver that isn’t bored is what Root knows is real. Under the layers of pretending and appearance, she knows the real concern lies. She doesn’t want to look up at Shaw- can’t.  _I won’t let her see me like this._

She takes in a few deep breaths, hands clasped together below the comforter. Finally, she looks up, a small, relieved smile on her face. However, there is still a haunting in the back of her eyes.

“Did the Machine tell you something?” Shaw asks, a small pique in her interest. She leans in a little closer, waiting to see if Root will divulge any information. Root can feel her hand tingling, as if remembering Shaw’s touch in the dream.

“No, just-” her brow furrows, looking for the words. “Nothing. Nightmares- you know.” She sees Shaw’s lip pull into a slightly dismayed slant, eyes searching in Root’s.  _What’s going on with her?_  Root wonders, and not for the first time. There is a dread in the question, like a melancholy pin that keeps pricking at her heart.  _Was it yesterday?_ Her heart hammers at the thought, the simple memory blinding and deafening, taking up every square inch of her thoughts. The nervousness. Fingers gripping under the edge of her seat, knuckles white and every muscle wound to the breaking point. Mind in tatters, holding her breath as every sense was magnified and every thought was backed with a full tank of nitrogen. Trying to keep a straight face, but inside a war raged between a smile and a scream. Seeing her face so unwilling, filling her body with cement and letting it harden within, keeping her weighed down with thirty tons of terror. And exhilaration. And the unknown.

Then it happened.

It was a burst of color behind closed eyelids and an electric surge zapping every ounce of calm from her body. And just as quickly it was gone. It was cold lips and burning cheeks; every sound in her head dropping to deadly silence. Root couldn’t see Shaw’s face then, and half of her feared the worst in it. But the other half was faced on a different fear, a fear in herself. This opened a whole new door she hadn’t known existed, and it honestly terrified her. It seemed everything she felt for the person to her right was magnified one hundred times, and there was no way to reverse it. 

“Root? Hello?” Root snaps out of the memory, eyes focusing back in on Shaw, and she is startled to see them narrowed in confusion. “I said do you want to talk about it?”

“Why would you ask that?” Root asks skeptically. “You’re not big on feelin-” Root stops herself, realizing the words all too late. She watches as Shaw’s eyes instantly shut down, falling back into an unreadable sternness, and her jaw sets almost angrily.

“Nevermind,” she grumbles, pushing away from the mattress, walking back across the room. Root reaches out an arm to stop her, but lets her go in the end, scolding herself all the while. She stands, icy hotel room running a chill down her spine, and she crosses her arms. Crouching down, she pulls out her suitcase to get dressed, yet her eyes never look down at the clothes. Instead, they watch as Shaw paces in the living room, chewing on her bottom lip in thought as her eyes gaze down at the carpet. One arm is wrapped around the front of her waist, the other resting on top of it, and it occasionally slides down to her back jean pocket, tapping the butt of her gun.  _What is going on in her mind?_

Bundling the clothes up in her arms, she heads towards the bathroom, but stops. “You need to get in here?” She jerks her head to the door, and Shaw gives her a small smile.

“No, I just finished.” Root smiles back, unsure why it spreads like a wild fire across her face. Stealing away to the bathroom, she locks the door.

____________\ If Your Number’s Up /____________

After a scorching hot shower with little water pressure, Root still hadn’t been able to answer that question.  _Any of them, really_. She decided to give up on them for now, and quickly dressed. A red t-shirt and dark denim jeans. She can feel the warm linoleum against her bare feet, and lets the towel drop in the nearest hamper. Looking in the mirror, she runs a hand through her stringy, wet hair, and heads out to grab a brush.

Walking into the main space, she sees a flap of filmy paper sticking out of the top compartment on Shaw’s luggage bag. Giving a quick look around, she sees her no where in sight, and bends down stealthily, nimble fingers picking its corner.

“Don’t touch that.” Root turns her head to the right, and as if she’d materialized from thin air, sees Shaw sitting atop the counter, eating what looks like vegetables and grilled meat on a skewer. A deep smirk comes to Root’s face at the words.

“Why not?” She asks, voice a taunt as she stands, lifting the bag upright with her. She pulls at the zipper, no longer concerned with the noise, and the small rectangle begins to come loose. “A good fiancé would  _never_  hide anything from their bride to-be.” Root feels a thrill in her heart, seeing the nearly microscopic smirk on Shaw’s face, eyes flickering with humor. She slides off of the counter without a sound, and glides forward easily.

“It’s a picture of Bear,” Shaw tells her, eyes serious. “Now leave it.”  _But I can’t just ‘leave it,’_  Root thinks as a crooked smile brightens her face.  _That would be no fun._  With her hand hovering over the photo, she watches Shaw slowly inch forward. She lunges. Root swipes the picture up, letting it slide through Shaw’s fingers as she spins away from her, keeping it out of Shaw’s reach. It didn’t matter what it was- a picture, or a key, or a gun- the reason why she took it was more childish than burning curiosity.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Root’s voice drips with pleasure as she sees the photo. From behind her, she can feel the heat of Shaw’s smoldering gaze on the back of her head. “This is a  _lovely_  picture of Bear,” Root says, only able to half suppress the large grin that comes to her face. “But do  _tell_  me,” her voice transitions to that of mock-question as she turns back to face Shaw, picture facing out. “Who is the  _other_  person in this photo?”

Root can see Shaw’s ears redden as her eyes narrow angrily. Root looks back to the photo, paying extra close attention to it. In it, Bear lays, sleeping in a furry bundle across Shaw’s lap on the bench. Shaw’s hands are in his fur, and her head is angled back, mouth open in deep sleep.

“John showed me that before we left,” Shaw fumes angrily, taking a fatal step closer. There is a knocking, but it seems rather distant. “I took it from him so he couldn’t show anyone else.”

“Oh,  _did_  you now?” Root asks smugly, nodding her head as if to say she believes her. “I’ll have to ask him for a cop-”

Shaw lunges forward, swift movements like a streak of light instead of a human, and Root draws back, not yet done with their banter. Shaw attempts once more, and Root blocks her efficiently, circling back around her with play in her eyes. Shaw catches her arm, Root seeing the slightest half-smile on Shaw’s lips, and pulls back. Shaw maintains her hold as Root jerks away, hitting the couch’s edge and falling back.

The two of them topple over, and Root can feel her wet hair smack against her neck icily, all the while she can’t help but let out a laugh. A second later the laugh is cut off, feeling the wind taken from her as Shaw lands on her ungracefully. Shaw pushes herself up, hands sinking into the couch at either side of Root’s rib cage, face entirely serious save for amused eyes. Root gives her a toothy grin, feeling something familiar in their small brawl, coupled with something blissfully new. Root lifts her left hand straight back, keeping the photo away, and trying to escape. Finding she’s pinned, she doesn’t mind too much, and looks into Shaw’s eyes, awaiting her next move, calculating all the possible maneuvers she can carry out to counter it.

’ _Delta Oscar Oscar Romeo’_

 _What?_  Root thinks, hearing the automated voices in her ear. Before she can put the thought together, their front door clamors open, and the sound of a gasp reaches her. At the same time, Root and Shaw look over, seeing a bewildered woman before them. The woman from the lobby. Her blue eyes are drawn wide, muscles tense under tanned skin, mouth agape to reveal white teeth. There is an envelope clasped tightly between tidily manicured fingernails.

“I… can come back later.” The first word is drawn out, but the rest come together like a train wreck, each syllable crashing haphazardly into the others until it is a jumble of letters and sounds. Root’s playful smile drops as she realizes how this all must seem, and her eyes drift back up to Shaw. Shaw, too, brings her eyes to look at Root, both seemingly frozen in place for a moment. Then, Shaw stands up quickly, ears and cheeks burning, and she leans over to rip the photo away from Root’s grasp. Root can feel a considerable amount of heat in her own cheeks, and props herself up on her elbows with a lazy smile, allowing the cocky amusement to flow from her freely as she watches Shaw.

“No, it’s fine. What is it.” Shaw stalks forward, voice thick with frustration, and the woman takes a step back from the door frame, envelope starting to tremble in her grasp.

“I didn’t mean to intrude!” The woman belts out fretfully. “It was just- they left a letter- they told me it was urgent!- and I knocked but you didn’t- I was about to go on brake- I wanted to make sure you had it- I used a spare key- I didn’t-”

“What  _is_  it.” Shaw demands once more, cutting off her panicked rambling. The woman’s tan face goes sheet white, and she sticks out a shaky hand, handing Shaw the envelope before scurrying away. Shaking her head, Shaw closed the door, locking it with her eyes taped to the envelope. It opens easily, and as she walks back towards the couch, Root sits up, bringing her knees in. Shaw sits down beside her, pulling out the thick, fancy paper with a typed message on it. Interested, Root scoots over, turning her body around and letting her feet drop to the floor, and she leans in over Shaw’s shoulder.

_To Sameen Reynolds & Melissa Groves:_

_I would like to inform you that within less than twenty-four hours, your software has done Merrill Corporations wonders. We have already sold software copies to a few of our company’s associates, and they seem to find it as excellent as we do. It would be a pleasure if I could offer the both of you a night meal with entertainment. Meet me at 2651 El Camino Real Redwood City at half after four. All expenses will be taken care of._

_\- Sincerely, Eric Cockfield. CEO_

Root takes in the letter, reading the address a few times over, making sure she has it in her mind. After a minute more, she realizes how still Shaw is, then a crashing realization comes to her: _Look what you’re doing_. For the first time, she’s aware of her chin resting on Shaw’s shoulder; her hand casually placed on Shaw’s leg. She can feel an awkward silence fill her lungs, and she draws back to breathe.

Shaw reanimates, placing the letter down and standing, wiping her palms down the front of her pockets.

“He probably sent that letter so we wouldn’t have time to refuse him,” Shaw muses, mostly to herself, but loud enough to include Root. Root nods, mind too preoccupied to do much else. “I’m, uh, gonna go for a walk.” Shaw tells her, pulling her black shirt down over her gun.  _Do they even need it here?_ Root wonders. _It seems like an eternity since I’ve fired off a weapon._  Looking up at Shaw’s face, she sees many gears turning behind her dark eyes, and wonders if that is what she is off to do.

“I’ll come with you,” Root says, but Shaw gives a short shake of her head that makes Root stop from getting up.

“There’s food on the counter. I’ll be back by four thirty.” Without another word, Shaw exits the room, leaving a phantom of mystery in her place.  _Where is she going? Why did she sound so detached? What is she thinking?_  The questions fill Root’s head like bees to their hive, until her head is a constant buzz of questions and theories. She feels her head give a slight pound and walks over to the counter, finding- with an amused smile on her face- a shish-kabob and a half sitting in a brown paper bag.

____________\ We’ll Find You /__________

“Are you  _sure_  this is the place?” Shaw asks skeptically, high heeled boots crunching agains the bleached gravel. She slams the car door behind her, and from the passenger side, Root does the same. Root’s brow is creased in thought as she looks down at the address yet again, not truly believing that these two could possibly correlate.

“This is the address,” Root replies, stuffing the letter in her back pocket. Her boots sift in the small pebbles, their crunch dry from the constant wrath of the sun.

“Well, lets hope this is a typo,” Shaw huffs out, hands stuffed into her back jean pockets. They walk up to an odd cross between a Western saloon and a tech-savvy bar. The outside is lit up with neon lights, sporting beers and liquors, while the door looks like it came out of an episode of The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin. The music blasts through the walls, bass pulsing the ground they walk on. On the far corner is a large sign shaped like a cowboy boot with the place’s name in large, glowing letters.

 _The Hanky Pank. Excellent._  Root can’t keep the laugh out of her thoughts, thinking how absurd of a place this would be to meet a CEO.  _There had to have been a mistake, right?_

Pushing through the saloon doors, they are met by another, glass set. Through them is a large, dark room with strobe lights streaking across the floor. There are small, two person high-rise tables scattered throughout, with men occupying each seat. Wrapped around the farther edges are thick lounge chairs that reek of tobacco and sex. Root and Shaw share repulsed looks before walking up to a busty woman behind a counter. She wears a white cowboy hat and not much else.

“Welcome to the Hanky Pank!” She greets them over the music, thick Western drawl encasing her words. “How may I help you? Y'all lookin’ for an application?”

“No,” Shaw deadpans, the distaste more than evident on her face as she looks around at all of the men with contempt. The hostess frowns slightly, unsure what to do, and Root clears her throat.

“We were looking for someone, but I think we have the wrong address.”

“We  _think_?” Shaw grumbles, and Root rolls her eyes. Looking back to the hostess, she gives her a thin smile, only stretching it far enough to be considered polite.

“Have a nice da-”

“Sameen! Melissa!” Root freezes, hearing the familiar voice greet her ears, and her eyes dart over to Shaw’s. Unlike Root’s concerned stare, Shaw’s is beyond peeved. “So glad you could make it! Come, come. I have seats reserved- this way!” Shaw shakes her head no, eyes stern and unwavering. Root watches them cautiously, slowly walking towards Eric’s dark figure. Root comes up even to Shaw’s side, and- with glowering eyes- Shaw tags along at Root’s side, growing more and more furious by the second.

They come to a dark, mahogany bar packed with men in both suits and cowboy gear. Some wear Bontoni’s, others leather boots with spurs. Some sport ear pieces, others Western hats.  _Quite the crowd they have here_ , Root thinks, not at all pleased with being in this dank and grimy establishment. At the end of the bar are three open stools, and Eric sits down in one with not a care in the world. Shaw stops before him, and Root can tell by the fire in her eyes she’s had enough.

“Are you shitting with us?” The tone takes Eric off guard and he coughs on a swig of beer.  _He’s probably never been spoken to that way a day in his life._

“Wh- what are you  _talking_  about?” He asks, almost indignantly. Shaw gives him a wicked smirk, eyes narrowing venomously.

“We’re meeting in the middle of a  _gentleman’s_  club.  _You_  tell  _me_  why this is a good idea.”

“ _Sweetie_ …” Root warns with clenched teeth, leaning over to Shaw so she can hear. Shaw looks over at her with a stiffly set jaw, eyes ready to murder.

“Isn’t it  _obvious_?” Eric responds with a dopey grin, obviously on more than his first drink. When Shaw doesn’t respond, he continues to elaborate. “It’s simple, Reynolds. _I_ like women,  _you_  like women,” he gestures to the both of them with a pudgy hand; his smile widens. “And we _all_ like alcohol. Think of it as a bachelorette party, compliments of Palo Alto.” Root looks at the CEO with wide, disbelieving eyes.  _You sick son of a-_

“I’ve heard a  _lot_  of low things in my life,” Shaw starts, an utter loathing etched into every word, “but that  _has_  to be scraping the bottom of the scum barrel.” Root looks over at her, wanting to elbow her, but agrees with her words far too much to stop them- yet. “You’re a CEO, aren’t you? How  _dull_  are they hiring people these days that-”

“Sameen, that’s enough,” Root says quietly, seeing the mortification in Eric’s eyes. He’s humiliated and disgusted, and it is written all over his face. By the looks of it, Shaw’s words have sobered him up entirely. Shaw looks at her with malicious eyes, then turns on her heel and stalks out of the club. After a few seconds, she hears the slam of the doors, all the while her eyes stay plastered on Eric, waiting for something- anything to come from his mouth. When nothing does, Root lets a smirk that could be mistaken as a sneer cross her lips before she, too, leaves the premiss.

_________\ Proposal of Interest /_________

Not a second after Root closes the passenger side door, the car is whipped into reverse, and gravel is spit high into the air. Without stopping, Shaw pulls it into drive, and the axels grind against the strain. The rental SUV starts forward, speedily jumping back to the highway, heading back towards the hotel.

Shaw, anger radiating from her, cranks up the radio, and ‘It Takes Two’ blasts through the speakers. Lip curling in infuriated annoyance, she flips down the stations, only to find none of the buttons work. “What the hell kind of station is this,” she mutters, snapping the radio back off and pressing the gas, engine roaring down the road.

“Sam, don’t let him get you so worked up.”

“It’s not just  _him_ ,” she spits, hands tight on the steering wheel. “I could honestly care less what  _intentions_  he had.”

“Then what is it?” Root asks, brow furrowed as she looks over at Shaw with concern. Her mouth scrunches to the side, trying to decipher Shaw’s mix of rage.

“This- this  _assignment_ ,” she bursts out, malice astoundingly strong in the single word. As if the assignment is a plague, a life sentence for a crime she didn’t commit.

“What about it?” Root can feel a queasiness in her stomach, worms wriggling around in its pit.

Shaw shakes her head, the words refusing to come to her.  _Or maybe refusing to come out?_  “I’ll just be glad when this is all over.” Root feels a stabbing in her heart, and she looks out the front window for a minute, collecting her thoughts.

“If this is about when I kissed you, I-” She stops when Shaw slams her hand on the top of the steering wheel, teeth grinding against each other and eyes livid.

“ _Please_ , don’t talk about this,” Shaw says, voice strained. Yet, Root continues to press the subject. Looking back over to Shaw, she speaks again.

“Listen, Shaw, I know you hated that but it had to be-”

“ _Me_?” Shaw asks incredulously. “What do you mean  _me_?  _You’re_  the one who just- just uses  _anything_  for the Machine!”

“What are you  _talking_  about?” Root asks, alarmed.

“Are you going to tell me that you did that out of your own  _free_  will?” Shaw spits back, hands ringing out the wheel. Root feels the air being sucked out of her lungs, and she finds it excruciatingly difficult to speak.

“Yes, Sameen, I am.” Her words are choppy, and she tries hard to keep her voice level. Shaw scoffs, shaking her head without belief.

“Doing it of your own free will would be spontaneous, Root.” Root’s taken aback at the sudden sound of defeat in her voice, and the car slows to the speed limit. “It’s not doing it for a computer program.” She doesn’t know what to say at that, so she just looks at Shaw. She sees something she’s never seen before; it’s a total loss of composure. The stone outer shell is a little less rock and a little more human. But as she watches, she sees it fade in and out, a cross between ice cold and melting point, changing every second. But through it, Root pieces the gist of it together: Pain. Confusion. About the same thing she feels herself.

“She didn’t tell me to kiss you,” Root counters. “She told me to make sure they took the software.”

“Same thing in the end,” Shaw retorts with a hint of dejection. “I just want to go back home, so all of this can go  _away_.”

“This?” Root asks. Shaw sighs, checking the mirrors before pulling into the right lane.

“This- this- this  _engagement_  stuff. We haven’t so much as  _fired_  a weapon since getting here; I- I go out and buy you the world’s  _nastiest_  ‘best shish-kabob’,” Root gives a small chuckle at the statement, but Shaw continues. “I care about what you dream about- since when do I  _care_  at  _all_?- and you-  _you_  lean on me. We had a wrestling match on a couch for God’s sake! This- this is pretend stuff, Root.” Shaw won’t look over at her, just keeps her eyes forced straight ahead. Her voice becomes quiet. “And I  _hate_  pretend stuff.” Root looks at Shaw’s hands, not willing to look at her profile anymore.

“I wasn’t pretending, Shaw.” Shaw licks her lips, then bites the bottom one, closer to hysteria than Root has ever seen, all the while having no more than a slight shift in her countenance.  _I guess I’ve just learned to understand it_. Shaw yanks the steering wheel to the right, jerking them onto the shoulder before slamming on the brakes. The second they are stopped, Shaw turns her entire body to face Root, eyes freezing her heart with the mere coldness of her gaze.

“You’re telling me this  _entire_  weekend you’ve done  _exactly_  what you would.”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“Root, there’s no way you’d  _ever_  want to be engaged to  _me_.” A silence descends upon them, filling the car with air unbreathable. Root looks down at her hands, pressed together between her legs. A million things run through her mind, but every time she tries to grab one, it turns up empty in her hands.

“I would,” she says simply, mostly to herself as she continues to look at her hands. Shaw watches her, eyes a mixture of anger and dread, not understanding why all these things she’s never felt before are crashing down so hard on her now. She listens, waiting for Root to say anything else. “I would… if you asked.”

Shaw laughs, the melodic sound filling the car’s interior as she leans back into the driver’s seat, head tilted back to look at the gray ceiling. “Don’t start that, Root. The two of us- there’s a reason we’ve been alone all this time. We’re comfortable that way.”

“You’re not alone,” Root tells her, and Shaw allows her head to loll to the side so that their eyes meet. “You have me. And you have John, and Harold, and Lionel. You may have been alone before but.. not anymore.”

“That’s not the kind of alone I’m talking about,” Shaw tells her with a tired smirk, “and you know it.”

“Well, in that, there’s still me.” Shaw’s smirk drops, and she lifts her head to look at Root straight on.

“Fine.” Root looks at her, not quite grasping the weight of the word.

“'Fine’ what?”

“Fine, there’s you.” Root feels a flutter in her chest, and her heart pounds strongly against her ribs. “And fine, there’s engagement. I don’t do weddings, I don’t do vows or romantic moonlit walks.” Root smiles a toothy grin, and Shaw hints at the lightest of amused smirks. “I don’t do emotions- affection is  _out_  of the question- but, I can do engagement.  _If_  it’s like this. But, you know, if there are guns involved. Otherwise it’s just boring.”

“So… what are you saying?” Root asks, trying to keep the hope out of her voice, but failing miserably.

“That I’m in if you’re in- considering you weren’t bluffing before.”

Root’s smile widens. “I wasn’t.”

“So, are you in?” Shaw asks, face cool and unfazed but eyes waiting for an answer none the less. Root draws up her face in mock inquiry before bursting out into another dazzling smile.

“I’m in.”


End file.
